Three months on a Greek Island - sounds paradisiacal, right?!

So yes, I was what many people said: “you’re so lucky”, spending three months on a Greek island. But is it really luck when you work extra shifts at your side job for over six months, save every penny, juggle energy levels and business commitments… just to live out there on a strict budget?

I wouldn’t say it was luck. I’d say it was a choice and one I executed. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Do I recommend it? Without a doubt. But, I won’t work like that ever again. I will be full time in my soul-led business, as a digital nomad.

Getting out of your comfort zone, trying something new, walking into your fears and facing old traumas it’s not easy. It’s not comfortable. But it’s 100% WORTH IT. 🔥

Yes, I know… you could argue I’m fortunate to have done it, and that’s fair. But I live a very unconventional life: I’m single, without children, currently living in my parents’ annex (since Covid), after the end of an unhealthy relationship and major disruption to my beauty therapy business. That chapter of my life was dark, full of self-rejection and I closed it, not easily, but fully. I’m not living in my own home… yet. And wow… the toxic shame I’ve had to work through around that has been intense, to say the least.

We are or at least I, was conditioned to believe that in order to be accepted and not judged, we must live like everyone else. But I am not like everyone else. And more importantly: we’re not meant to be. We are all meant to be different. Unique.

There is no “normal” or maybe one day, “being yourself” will be rebranded as normal. Living with what the Nagoski sisters call Human Giver Syndrome (from their incredible book Burnout) is not normal. It’s an unhealthy epidemic of self-abandonment and it has to change.

Right, better stop there… that’s becoming another blog! 😂

So back to Greece.

Going to Greece (I’d never been before) started as a casual idea between me and my good friend Jane, who I co-host the High Sensory People podcast with. We were fantasising about escaping UK winters, because honestly, I find January and February brutal. (It also coincides with the bum end of my birth year).

That chat turned into a goal. And eventually… a decision.

Jane had been many times before, but for me, it was new. And if I’m honest… there was some trauma to face. Three of my biggest life events (my brother’s suicide, my mum being sectioned, and working for a narcissist) were all somehow linked to travel. So yeah… there was that pesky fear that something awful might happen again.

But I’ve been back nearly three months now. And all is well. No deaths. No hospitals. No gaslighting. Phew.

But wow… did I go through the fire while I was there.

Sleepless nights. Flashbacks. Grief. Anxiety. A surge of buried emotions. Trauma that surfaced for healing. As they say: “you have to feel it to heal it.” And feel it I did.

But from discomfort comes courage. Strength. Hope. Faith. And belief in yourself - the kind that can’t be faked. The kind that comes from doing the thing even when your nervous system is screaming don’t.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, I got a piece of myself back. Something I didn’t even know I was looking for.

I came home with more peace. More compassion. More love for myself. It felt like my soul integrated more deeply into my physical body, genuinely. Viscerally. As real as the wind brushing past your face. It changed me.

Travel does that. Getting out of your comfort zone does that. You meet new versions of yourself. You open hidden doors. You befriend exiled parts. You come back someone new and somehow, more you than ever.

Don’t get me wrong… I loved working part-time online while I was there. Researching, studying, podcasting, and going on long walks or swimming in the Mediterranean every couple of days. It was dreamy.

(Especially considering the sea where I currently live is an estuary - muddy and brown!)

But it wasn’t all sunsets and sailing trips. I still had to do the normal stuff: keep the apartment clean, buy food, cook, record podcast episodes. It wasn’t a 3-month holiday. It was real life, just in a new environment. Which, honestly, is what made it so healing.

And then… the cats. Oh my days… The Greek cats.

They were tenacious, wild, affectionate, hungry, hilarious. We made the mistake of naming them, because of course we did, and soon they were part of our daily life. Meowing at the door every morning. Following me along the promenade like dogs. I still miss them now.

At first, the rescuer in me kicked in hard. I was so triggered by seeing them starving, fighting, needing affection. But over time, I found peace in knowing they’d survived this long without me. I learned to love without attachment. And I remembered: not everything broken is mine to fix.

And yes, it got real.

The apartment boiler flooded. Twice. My wardrobe got drenched. The kitchen tank broke too. Total chaos.

And honestly? It tracked with my energy. I’ve always believed that soul integration affects water and electricity. When you’re processing deep trauma… your field cracks things open. It’s a running theme in my life.

People often think long trips abroad are just extended holidays. But when you’re away for months, your nervous system gets tested. You miss things. You need things. And you realise what really supports you. Amazon doesn’t deliver camping mats. Shampoo is three times the price. Beds are hard. Little things become big things.

You don’t just miss home - you meet yourself.

Greece in January to March was like spring in the UK; cool nights, sunny days. Very different from high-summer holidays.

By month three, I was ready to come home. Funds were low. Spring was on its way. And I was looking forward to the summer ahead. I love the UK in summer… when it behaves. 😉

And honestly? I missed the birdsong. The blackbirds and robins. The wild green hedgerows. The blossoms. The rain (yes, even that). The soul of this land.

I came back lighter. Like I’d left something behind I never meant to carry.

I let something go out there. I don’t even have the perfect words for it. But I know it was trauma. And I know I’m different now. Braver. Softer. Stronger.

In hindsight, maybe I should’ve written weekly blogs while I was there. But maybe I needed the space. Maybe I was still battling that old voice: “Who wants to hear about this?”. Turns out… everyone. Everyone I spoke to wanted to hear everything.

Because stories matter. You matter. We relate through stories. We heal through stories. We feel less alone when we read the truth of someone else’s life. It reminds us that we’re okay.

That being who you are is enough.

So next time you have an idea… go explore it.

Start small. It doesn’t have to be big. Baby steps lead to big goals. Don’t wait for permission.

Much love,

Elisha 💖